


Visits

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Abuse (Slap of Another Person), Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Series, Time Skips, alcohol issues, canon minor character death, drug interaction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23504947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: Sometimes it was easier for Jackie to look after her classroom full of kids than it was to care for her kid at home. Snapshots of pre-series Malcolm's 18 through NYPD visits with the Arroyo's.A response to Jameena's prompt to create a new scenario based on malclombright's gif of Stranger Beside You head grabbing before phone throwing Malcolm.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Jackie Arroyo
Comments: 16
Kudos: 68





	Visits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jameena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Stranger Beside You gif](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/579127) by malclombright. 



"You can be _anything_ ," her mother told her.

That wasn't true.

She tried to be a social worker. "Too empathetic," teachers critiqued.

"What do you want to do that for?" friends asked when she came home, slamming the door behind her.

She went on ride-alongs, collecting everyone's emotions in her pockets until she was stuffed to the brim, unable to breathe. Teachers talked of distance, compartments, a healthy level of numbness to avoid exhaustion.

She tossed all of her notes out the window to the street, watching them flutter and fall in the breeze. Cars drove over them, marking _expired_ in knobby treads. Pockets empty, she took in a full breath of air from outside: maybe she agreed with everyone's assessment.

She needed a new profession.

Her classes had enough similarities to pursue teaching. Primary education, they called it. She shadowed another student to get an idea of what to expect and found it was a different way to fulfill her desire to work with kids. It took longer to graduate, more zeros than she'd ever _seen_ to pay back, and friends to support her when she paced their tiny apartment wondering if any of it was worth it.

Twenty years of experience later, she'd never trade it.

She got to see kids' worst _and_ best days. Helped them learn about themselves and their environment. Created experiences that would keep them engaged and introduce some structure to them. Went home to her husband feeling needed and fulfilled. It gave her _purpose_.

Much like the kid who waited for her at home.

She called him. "Can you put the lasagna in the oven?"

"Jackie — what temperature?"

"Three-seventy-five — you remember."

* * *

Three more days. Malcolm only had three more days until he was off to Boston. It was his final visit with Jackie and Gil before he’d depart.

He paced, spun, concocted scheme after scheme with his miming hands until they all fell through into his pockets. His fingers dug into his thighs, his nails piercing as hard as he could press.

He looked at the clock ticking at him, pattering in his ears. Ten more minutes. Tick. Tick. He should check.

He opened the oven and reached in for the pan.

"Ahhh!" he exclaimed, hands whipping back.

Fuck, fuck, how could he be so dumb? He shut the oven with his foot, started the sink with his elbow, and ran his hands under the cold water. _Fuck_ , it stung.

Jackie opened the door to Malcolm's pinched face, flushed cheeks. "What is it?" she rushed across to him.

"Get the oven — it's ready." He turned his head toward it.

She grabbed the potholders, put the lasagna on the back of the stove, and turned the oven off.

"Let me see." She pulled one of his hands out of the water, finding angry welts across the top of his palm and fingertips. She pushed it back under the water and rubbed his back. "What happened?"

Malcolm shook his hanging head. "Forgot."

“Did you go out today?” she asked.

“No.”

“I’ll walk with you. It’ll be a little bit before Gil gets home. Food can rest. Let me see the other one.” She tugged at his other arm.

Similar welts. Superficial — the touch must have been fairly light. Would blister, but didn’t require a trip to the emergency room.

Sometimes it was easier to look after her classroom full of kids.

* * *

Every sound in the city echoed tenfold in his ears. His thumbs played across his burns, pushing into the maimed skin until he felt pain, then let go again.

“Malcolm,” Jackie warned, giving him a sidelong glance.

His hands went back to his sides, aimlessly tapping against his pants.

“Kid, everything’s going to be fine.” A gust caught her dark chocolate hair and whipped a piece into his face.

He shook his head, observing more the sidewalk than the space ahead of them. “I can’t see it.”

“What?”

He fidgeted again, wrapping his arms around himself, his fingers counting into his sides. “I can’t sleep around other people.”

“You have accommodations — “

“Walls are thin. They’re going to ask. Think I’m special.” Kids at boarding school had asked plenty. None of them had compassion like Jackie.

“You _are_ special.” She touched his shoulder.

“ _Jackie_ ,” he whined, putting his hand through his hair and pulling until the strands screamed against his head.

“C’mon.” She grasped his arm and guided him into the park.

She sat on a swing, bending her legs underneath her. “Whoever goes highest wins.”

“ _Jackie_.” He stood off to the side, hesitant to join in.

“Stop saying my name like it’s torture.” She kicked her legs out, starting to get herself swinging.

Malcolm dropped into the swing beside her, sitting and playing with the pressure of the chains against his burned hands.

“Don’t let me win,” she prodded on a trip by him, her hair flying behind her.

He drifted back and forth, dead weight in the seat, legs just above the ground. He started playing with his arms, seeing how far he’d be able to swing with only their force. Then added in his legs when that got boring.

She giggled when she reached the top, the chain clunking against the frame of the swing set. He looked over to her hair swept in front of her face, and his chin dropped into his chest when he hit the top as well, flying backwards, chasing her retreat.

When he crested again, he let go of the chains and tumbled onto the playground grass. Jackie did the same, rolling to a stop beside him.

“Home?” Jackie asked and smiled.

He gave her a hand up, not even realizing when her hand clasped around his burns.

* * *

Gil opened the door to an empty apartment and lasagna wafting toward him. He didn’t see any note in the kitchen, yet he figured they couldn’t be far. He set the table and went to relax in the living room.

“Chefs left me with all the dinner.” Gil smiled when they entered the apartment.

He sat in the living room with his feet up. “Hi, honey,” Jackie crossed to give him a kiss. “Need a second to clean up — you guys dig in.”

Gil got up and headed for the kitchen. “Hey, kid,” Gil rubbed the back of Malcolm’s neck.

Malcolm gave a small smile.

“Orange juice, or sparkling lime?” Gil offered the drink options, walking to the fridge.

“Lime,” Malcolm decided, taking glasses out of the cabinet.

“What happened to the hand?” Gil observed the blisters through the glass.

He gave a quick shake of his head. "It’s nothing. Accident.”

Gil let it go, assuming Jackie had already taken care of him. “Any last few things you want to do in New York?”

“Spend time with you and Jackie.” A decisive statement Gil could easily support.

Gil smiled at the simplicity of the request. “I think that can be arranged.”

“We went to the park.” The corner of Malcolm’s lip tipped up.

Gil grinned. “Who won?”

“She did.”

They carried the drinks to the table. “You let her? Can’t let her head get too big, kid — she’ll outwit me when you’re not around.”

“You do pretty fine on your own.”

“Gonna miss you, kid.” Gil rubbed Malcolm’s shoulder and they sat at the table.

* * *

The dorm wasn’t understanding. The dorm wasn’t fine. The walls kept leaking Malcolm’s secrets like a tabloid front-page, always listening in for the next piece of scandalous news.

He went to class floating on a high of multiple days of no sleep. Went back to his dorm thinking of all the ways he could stay up all night so no one would hear him.

After several rounds of the behavior and little food, he passed out and woke up screeching. Incessant banging came from the door with a holler to “ _Keep it down, Whitly!_ “

Maybe he could knock himself out like his mother.

A taste of the right pill and he’d be dead to the world until metabolism ran its course and he woke. A quiet way to go about the night. A way to hide in the inner leaves of _letters from the readers_.

It got him through his first semester.

* * *

“Seltzer or wine?” Gil asked behind Jackie in the kitchen.

“Wine would be nice.” She smiled while taking apart the pieces of the food processor into the sink, running them under the water so the pureed soup wouldn’t turn into gummed on paste while they were eating. “Any secret ingredients you snuck in this time?”

He kissed the back of her neck and rubbed her side. “Grilled the corn first. Maybe a little heavy on the cayenne. You’ll have to tell me.”

“Like I’m gonna complain about spice.”

He brought their glasses of wine to the table, and she followed behind him, drying the remaining water from her hands on her pants. His phone buzzed in his pocket as soon as he sat down.

“I need you in Boston, _now_ ,” Jessica demanded before Gil could properly answer.

“What is it?” Jackie stood behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders when he hung up.

Gil swallowed and steadied his breath. “Malcolm’s in the hospital.”

* * *

They threw the fastest clothes they could find into their bags, not even knowing if the socks had matches or if any of the outfits made any sense, and hopped the first train. Gil’s eyes bounced everywhere throughout the ride — floor, ceiling, doors between cars, out the windows, to Jackie beside him.

“You’ve never been one not to drive yourself.” Jackie smirked, rubbing the back of his hand. “Like to be in control.”

“He should have called. He should have _called_ ,” he stressed, and Jackie squeezed his hand harder.

She wanted to be in Boston already, so to keep herself together while they traveled, she focused on calming her husband. “Were you good at that when you were his age?”

He shook his head. “No.”

She took in the frown etched in his brow and felt the same tightness in her chest. “He sounded okay on the phone.”

“He wasn’t okay when he left at Christmas.”

At times he had been vibrating out of his skin, and he kept asking if they could go for walks. He’d woken them multiple times screaming. “He was managing.”

“I’m worried he did something stupid,” Gil admitted, squeezing her hand in return.

“He did do something stupid,” she affirmed, going off of his basic description from Jessica — drug interaction.

He blew out a breath of air. “Stupider, then.”

“Let’s let him tell us.” She ran her thumb over the crease between his brows. “No need for ten worst-case scenarios.”

“You think I stopped at ten?” He let go of her hand to wrap an arm around her shoulder. “Come ‘ere.”

He leaned against the window and held Jackie against his chest, kissing the top of her hair. “You call school already?”

“Yeah. While you were in the bathroom.” She played with his hand across her stomach. “Precinct good about it?”

“Yeah.” He brushed the side of her cheek. “Try to rest if you want. You’ve gotta be tired.”

Five AM schedule typically had her getting up earlier than him. “Mind’s…busy,” she admitted, sharing she wasn't quite as calm as she seemed.

“Close your eyes,” he directed, “and think of that nice glass of wine, soup, pudding, and a massage afterward.”

“You were hiding pudding?” she clapped the back of his hand.

“Of course that’s your first reaction,” he teased and pulled her hair aside to kiss the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“Chocolate?”

“Is there any other kind?”

“Says the guy who likes the vanilla," she gave him sass, poking him back.

“I like them both.”

She smiled and snuggled further into his chest.

“Rest, honey,” he suggested. “We’ll figure things out when we get there.”

She trusted him and focused on the repetitive train clunking and her husband's breathing to lull her to sleep.

* * *

Malcolm lay partially upright in bed, eyes nearly closed, IV in one arm. His mother had walked out when Gil let her know they were there. As soon as he saw Jackie and Gil, he spoke quietly, “I’m really sorry to cause you both the trouble.”

Jackie wrapped her arms around him, and Gil enveloped them both, creating one big cocoon of safety. “You’re okay,” Jackie got out, soft against his ears.

He couldn’t manage to nod they held him so tight. Honey and cinnamon mixed in his nose, the distinctive scents of both his friends.

Gil pulled back, and Jackie retreated so they both stood beside the bed, as close as they could get. Jackie held his hand, maintaining contact.

“Dr. Whitly called me,” Malcolm admitted, looking at the blanket when Jackie’s anger squeezed into his hand and he couldn’t face them, “and I didn’t have class and hadn’t slept in a few days, so afterward I thought maybe I’d nap.”

He shook his head at himself. “Things have been…not good.” Gil lowered his head down to meet Malcolm’s eyes, and Malcolm quickly added, “I swear I took the right amount.”

“Of what?” Gil asked.

“A few things that help me sleep. I got to a mix that tends to work — sedative, herbals, and a bit of alcohol,” Malcolm read off the recipe.

“Jesus,” Gil said and stepped away from the bed.

“I’m sorry. I’m-m sorry,” Malcolm repeated, wanting Gil back. The support he'd gotten from both his friends was unmatched — he needed them. Seeing Gil pull back dropped the floor from underneath him and left his heart flailing to stay in the room.

Jackie slid into the bed beside him, and he rested his head against her shoulder. Gil returned to rub his flank, and Malcolm grabbed his hand, not wanting him to leave.

“I couldn’t wake up.” Malcolm’s eyes teared. “I-I guess I was screaming ‘cause they brought me here.”

“We’re glad you’re okay,” Jackie shared, running her hands through his hair.

“I’m so-oo _sorry_ ,” Malcolm cried. Train tickets were expensive, they had to have taken time off work to come see him — how could he be so, so stupid?

Being pulled into Malcolm, Gil sat on the bed behind him and rubbed the back of his neck.

Sandwiched between his friends and pseudo-parents in a low moment, Malcolm had never felt so loved.

* * *

Pushed out of Malcolm’s hospital room, Jessica invited them back to her hotel and paid for a room for them despite their refusal. She tried to dip away for the night, but Jackie suggested, “Can we talk for a few minutes?”

Jessica’s eyes narrowed, yet she agreed, “Come on up.”

“Wine?” Jessica offered, pouring a glass for herself.

With slight head shakes, they both refused.

“He might need to take a break,” Jackie explained, sensing he had tried adjusting to too many things at one time and was failing. He was behaving like a kid whose parents were going through a divorce and had been thrust into a new home environment. She had two of them in her class at the moment. At his age and wealth, he had newfound freedom to get into whatever he wanted.

Gil wrapped his arm around his wife's waist.

“Nonsense,” Jessica dismissed with her hand. “He’ll be out of there tomorrow and back to whatever he gets lost in these days.”

“Jessica, he needs help." To Jackie's knowledge, he had never tried to get himself to sleep with drugs in their house, and he _definitely_ hadn't been drinking. She knew he was suffering and had less support at school, and she even suspected he hadn't talked to his therapist. "You're not understanding.”

Jessica squared her stance off at Jackie, showing she meant business. "He’s my _son_.”

Jackie was accustomed to parents being unhappy with her statements. She ate them for lunch on days things got too busy for a break. "He’s not sleeping. And dependence — “

“He’s not some drug addict.”

“It’s only going to get worse," Jackie warned. Parents from her old ride-alongs were still too vivid in her mind, and she'd heard plenty of stories with sad endings from Gil.

“What’d you do, close your eyes to the past nine years?” Jessica spat.

"Jessica — " Gil tried to butt in.

“If you send him back, he’s going to wind up in a _morgue_.” Jackie firmly hit her point on the head. Silence finally came from Jessica. “None of us could help him then.”

“I _don’t_ agree with this," Jessica got in the last word and turned away.

Gil rubbed his fingers against his wife's side, and Jackie welcomed the quiet comfort.

Jessica poured herself a second glass of wine and sat on the suite’s couch. "He wouldn't say a word until you got there,” Jessica revealed, looking out the window.

“I’m sorry," Jackie offered quietly, recognizing the pain that would come with being in Jessica's position. She didn't agree with her, but she didn't want her to hurt either.

“I think it’s best you go," Jessica's statement directed them to the door.

Jackie put her arm around Gil's back as soon as they got into the hall, thanking him for being by her side.

* * *

Jackie and Gil brought Malcolm home with them to New York. "As long as you need," they said.

He spent days in their guest room trying to sort things out, barely eating. Then he went to talk to his mother.

When Malcolm walked in their apartment door, Jackie abandoned her papers at the kitchen table. “What happened?” She held his chin, inspecting the red imprint on his cheek.

He shook his head, tears welling in his eyes.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” She led him into the living room to the couch.

He shook his head again and cried into her shoulder. He looked as broken as the occasional kids who showed up with bruises in her classroom.

Gil found them huddled together an hour later, Malcolm asleep against Jackie, the remains of tears in brushed watercolor on her face. Gil knelt beside them, cupping Jackie’s face. “What is it?”

“We’ve got to give him the guest room as long as he needs,” her voice trembled on a hiccup.

“Of course — he always has it.”

“She slapped him, Gil," she managed to say, the words still difficult to comprehend.

Gil's eyes narrowed, his brow pinching into a disgruntled glare. "I’ll — “

“No, I’m going," Jackie clarified, her anger having brewed for the past hour. "As soon as he wakes up.”

Gil turned to sit beside them on the floor, and Jackie's arm wrapped around his shoulders, protecting the both of them with her grasp.

* * *

Jackie waited in the foyer in the mansion of a house, grinding her ire into the immaculate grout with her foot. Even though they’d been inside many times dropping off and picking up Malcolm, she’d never gotten accustomed to the lavish display of wealth.

“Jackie — you’re here late.” Jessica emerged, hand resting against the wall.

“How could you do that to a kid?” Jackie spat, her arms gesturing her rage in front of her. "It took _days_ for Malcolm to come to talk to you about taking a leave of absence, getting help, and you did _that_?”

Jessica looked to the wall, dismissing her. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“Where’s Ainsley?” Jackie looked toward the staircase.

“Upstairs. _Sleeping_. Not that it’s any of your business," she sneered.

“You hit a _kid_ ,” Jackie accused. An already fragile, unstable kid currently burrowed into her husband. She reared up all 5'6" of her to defend him.

“Slapped. A grown ass man who needs to buck up and act like it. Real life eats the weak.”

Hearing the words come out of Jessica's mouth pained Jackie for him. "It’s despicable,” Jackie glared, her eyes threatening to laser through Jessica’s. “It is my _obligation_ to call family services.” Jackie’s eyes flared and her weight shifted to one of her hips.

“Don’t _ever_ speak to me again,” Jessica retorted and spun on her heel.

“I hope you get help, Jessica,” Jackie returned and saw herself out.

* * *

When Jessica sobered the next day, she called Malcolm, saying, “Do whatever keeps you _alive_.”

Echos of “ _disgracing_ our family” kept bouncing through his head. That he was wasting his mother’s money. That he was a waste. The crack of a slap that wasn’t painful, yet surprised him. He wanted to hide under the bed and let the bog monster swallow him.

“You can always go back,” Jackie shared, rubbing his shoulder. “We can’t create a new Malcolm.”

What would a new Malcolm look like? Differently parted hair? A fresh beard? Change of clothes? A shade under his eyes lighter than charcoal? Would he ever be able to get enough sleep to actually look human?

He submitted the paperwork for a leave of absence from school. Jackie and Gil let him take the guest room for an indeterminate duration.

Malcolm spent his days seeing his local therapist, occasionally seeing his psychiatrist. Took on regular visits to his father. Otherwise, he didn’t leave their apartment. He knew he could go elsewhere, but he didn’t want to. 

“Thank you both,” Malcolm shared at the kitchen table, his head bowed.

“You’re always welcome here,” Gil reminded, passing him salad, which he immediately passed on.

“I feel like I’m losing it,” Malcolm admitted, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“You need some recess,” Jackie suggested.

“What about the routine Gabrielle asked you to establish?” Gil identified.

“I’m taking my meds at the same time. Making sure I shower and shave. Go to bed not too late.” Didn’t sleep, but at least he was in the bed and not bouncing off the walls and ceiling.

“How about the exercise? You’re still not sleeping. Have little appetite,” Gil pointed out his observations and empty plate.

“You’re seeing your father,” Jackie added.

“I need information from him for when I go back to school,” Malcolm justified. Things seemed…better when he and his father just kept talking. Dr. Whitly’s follow up calls were less frequent when he got to see Malcolm in person. Visiting Dr. Whitly was a schedule he could control — pattering phone calls with rampant manipulation were not.

“Malcolm — I don’t like — “ Jackie started, but Malcolm cut her off.

“I don’t want to talk about it," he attempted to freeze out the topic.

“Malcolm — “ Jackie tried again.

Malcolm pushed away from the table. “Look — I’ll do the run thing. Whatever else you want me to do. Just, _please_ — let that be.”

“I’ll come with you,” Gil indicated, standing with him.

* * *

Gil let Malcolm pick the route, and Gil matched his pace. It wasn’t as strenuous as he was used to, but the purpose was watching the kid over exercise. His wife wasn't sleeping well out of worry for him, and he had to admit he wasn't sleeping the best either.

“I want to change my name,” Malcolm shared in between breaths. “I think it might help.”

“Gonna go with something like Superman?” Gil smiled over at him.

“Very funny.”

“I don’t think my mother will like it.”

She was still a _very_ sore subject. Second only to Martin. "Maybe give it some time.”

They passed the park and continued toward the river. Gil figured Malcolm was looking for nature over buildings.

“What should it be?” Malcolm asked.

“You’re smart — you’ll come up with something," Gil shared with confidence.

“I might need some help, though.”

“Start with Jackie. She’s creative — I’m sure she’ll help you brainstorm if you ask.” She had made all kinds of things for the kids from a classroom nook to bulletin boards to food.

“I want your opinion too.”

“Sure, kid. She’s better, so trying to get you off to a good start.” Gil looked over at him. "Or you’ll end up with a name like _The Flash_.”

Malcolm shook his head at him. "I’m not a superhero.”

“Could’ve fooled me," Gil teased, still thinking he was braver than he ever let on or took credit for.

"Race you back to the apartment," Malcolm got out and took off before Gil could acknowledge he was participating.

* * *

Living off campus was a godsend when Malcolm went back to school sophomore year. He could afford not to have neighbors and no longer needed to worry what would happen if anyone heard him at night. His existence was fairly anonymous, much closer to what he liked.

He commuted back and forth between Boston and New York interviewing his father, amassing enough research so he could work on his thesis. He rarely visited anyone but him when he was there, not wanting anyone to know how much contact he had inflicted upon himself. Jackie wouldn't approve, Gil wouldn't either, and he actively avoided dealing with his mother when he could.

On spring break his junior year, Malcolm slid a set of papers across the kitchen table to Jackie and Gil.

“It’s official?” Gil asked, a smile coming to his face when he realized.

“Malcolm Bright,” Jackie read, sharing the same smile.

“A lot better than all my ideas,” Gil admitted and clapped his back. “Congratulations.”

“Mother would have died at Malcolm Lemming." Malcolm chuckled. "Probably say it was a lemon and send it back.”

“Exactly why Jackie was the right person,” Gil acknowledged, rubbing the back of her hand.

“I’m going to see Dr. Whitly tomorrow,” he shared, up front about the visit. He looked at the table to add the last bit of information. “I want to see the look on his face when he finds out.”

“Malcolm — “

“Then I’m not going to go back," Malcolm revealed a decision he had thought about for months in discussion with his therapist and knew they would be in full support of. Even his mother would be thrilled.

Jackie and Gil looked pleased. He hoped it was a promise he could keep to himself and them so he wouldn't lose their praise.  
  
"You can call me Bright. Malcolm's still fine, but I think I like Bright," Malcolm explained.

"Of course, Bright." Jackie smiled at him in pure happiness.

* * *

Malcolm sat in front of the aquarium watching Dusty dive and tunnel. He rubbed his finger against the glass, saying hello.

“You can hold him,” Jackie encouraged. “Twenty-two sets of grabby hands have gone at him, and he’s been okay.”

Malcolm reached in, laid his hand out flat for the gerbil, and Dusty walked on, not even looking a bit scared. He rubbed the top of Dusty’s head with his thumb.

Malcolm smiled just like Jackie’s kids did when it was time to take care of Dusty. Jackie had the classroom pet at home while school was out.

“He likes you,” Jackie commented.

“My snakes would have liked him,” Malcolm joked, then said to Dusty, “but you’re not for eating. No.”

“Don’t tell the kids that,” Jackie warned. “Will have a crying fest on your hands.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

Dusty ran back off of his hand, and Malcolm went to wash up in the sink.

“I’m gonna go lay down a bit,” Malcolm indicated.

“Feeling okay?”

He shrugged. “Just a little down.”

“Go run. Or swing. Or walk. Pick one.” She smiled.

He twisted his lips, and Jackie took it as not really liking any of the suggestions over retreating to bed.

“Don’t go all Dusty on me.” She raised her eyebrows. “Get some exercise and come back for dinner.”

“Yes, Jackie.” He disappeared to his bedroom, yet reemerged to go outside.

* * *

When talk of graduation came around, Malcolm indicated, “It’s too stressful, and I need to finish my master’s before I can do anything anyway.”

Jackie and Gil slid into the car early on a Saturday morning and were knocking on Malcolm’s door by 10AM. When it opened, a smile split his face. He hugged them both, indecisive about who to pull in first.

“Hey, kid,” Gil laughed, wrapping an arm around his back.

Jackie ruffled his hair and pushed back to look at him at arm’s length. “Something looks a little different.”

Malcolm’s brow furrowed — he hadn’t changed anything.

“Your smile,” she beamed.

He tipped his head and nodded in agreement. Malcolm stepped backward and let them both inside. “Sorry for the mess — would have cleaned up if I knew you were coming.”

Jackie spotted _one_ bowl in the kitchen sink and shook her head at his definition of a mess.

“I can take your things?” Malcolm offered.

“We got a hotel,” Gil indicated, holding his hands up to show they did not have any bags on them. “Get dressed — we’re gonna take you out for the day.”

“I’d like to ride a duck boat,” Jackie added, hugging her coat around her hips.

“How touristy of you,” Malcolm teased.

“You giving me a hard time?” Jackie nudged him with her elbow.

“I know better,” Malcolm replied and scurried off before she could nudge him again.

* * *

Jackie and Gil sat at opposite ends of their hotel room’s oversized sunken tub, Gil massaging her feet. He worked in the vanilla honey bath scrub on his hands, giving the bath a sweet scent. “He seems good,” Gil commented, “really good.”

“Time away from New York — his father.” Jackie shifted and a few pieces of her hair fell out of her clip and touched the top of the water. He wanted to brush them back and give her a kiss, but she was too far away and he didn’t want to disturb her.

“Is there a take your husband to work day?” Gil chuckled, in constant state of awe over her abilities.

“What?”

“I know you fight for all those kids as much as you fight for him.” He pressed into the arch of her foot.

She shook her head. “You’re exaggerating.”

“And why are there three packs of new books sitting on our kitchen table?” He raised one eyebrow at her in joking question.

She wiggled her toes in his chest hair.

“You’re amazing.” He stroked her calf.

“No, you,” she returned, closing her eyes.

“Someone’s nice and relaxed.” He worked his thumb into the ball of her foot. Traced her lean lines from her ankle, up to her knee hidden in the water, then over the rest of her distorted body up to the tops of her breasts. The bits of hair that had fallen tickled her graceful neck, and he wanted to kiss the spots that moved when she talked.

“Someone’s hands are magic,” her voice was dreamy, peaceful.

“We’re never getting out, are we?” Not that he would mind. It was the first they had been away in awhile, and they were certainly going to make the most of it.

She smiled. “Nope.”

* * *

Malcolm went home to Jackie and Gil’s on Thanksgiving break during his master's. They had gotten a letter indicating they would be contacted as part of a background check.

“What should we tell them? Malcolm Bright is a wonderful kid who deserves to be anything he wants?” Jackie commented, grading papers at the kitchen table.

“ _Jackie_ , it’s the FBI,” Malcolm complained.

“And they don’t want wonderful people?” she countered, jotting a purple smiley.

Malcolm sighed.

“You are wonderful — stop it.” _Wonderful!_ , super big-eyed smiley, 98.

Malcolm sat down across from her and thumbed through the finished stack.

“Gonna add grading elementary school homework to your resume?” she teased, coughing when her breath caught.

“I don’t remember this.” He held up one of the papers.

“Hmm?”

“Stickers and smiley faces, a little note of _excellent_ — can’t remember.” He sounded like he was stating facts with little emotional attachment.

He was in elementary school an awfully long time ago. “Maybe you didn’t — “

Their eyes locked, and they both knew his streak of good grades hadn’t started at Harvard.

“I’m going to tell them you’re a wonderful kid, and no matter what happened in your life, you never stopped being that,” Jackie affirmed, drawing an equally large smiley and offering _great improvement!_

He ducked his head, saying, “I’ll start on dinner,” and walked away from the table.

* * *

True to form, Malcolm never walked at any graduation. He wanted to keep his anonymity, didn’t want to deal with the stress of being boxed in with thousands of people. So he finished his classes, took a brief stop in New York, then left for Quantico.

Visits became less frequent as Malcolm’s job engulfed him in training and took him all over the country. Once every few months turned into summer, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.

He missed them, a growing hole in his heart over each month that passed without seeing them. They missed him too. They traded calls any chance they got to talk with each other, sharing the new gathering of kids in the classroom and the latest adventures in policing. Compared a kid who wouldn’t stop talking to Malcolm and they all giggled. To Gil’s chagrin, put Gil against a criminal who was so loyal to his friend, he wouldn’t leave the house when it had been pepper sprayed.

“I have not done that,” Gil defended.

“You did sit outside all night until Bright came home one time,” Jackie returned.

“It was 2AM!”

“I was probably doing something dumb,” he admitted, not remembering the specific incident.

“Yeah, making comparisons to suspects, FBI guy,” Gil fired back.

And they all laughed some more.

In between visits, packages traveled back and forth to Quantico and New York. Jackie and Gil opened a box to fine whiskey, 24 boxes of crayolas, and chocolate from the health food store.

“We should call him,” Jackie suggested, opening the chocolate and taking a bit.

“You feel okay?” He caressed her arm. “Seem tired.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She smiled. “Let’s get the kid on the phone.”

* * *

Malcolm opened a cardboard box to the dry ingredients for lentil soup. No recipe. He called Jackie.

“Hi, kid,” she answered, and Gil’s voice echoed on speaker.

“Hi, guys. Thank you for the gift,” he shared, smiling, trying to decide if he would make some that evening.

“I’m sure you remember how to make it,” Gil voiced.

“I don’t know how dirty I’ll go, though — someone keeps going heavy on the fire,” he poked. Whenever Gil cooked, things were a little spicer than the recipe called for.

Jackie giggled. Exactly the way she liked it.

“Is there a new class pet?” Malcolm asked, missing being able to check in on them when Jackie brought them home.

“Mikey,” Jackie indicated.

“Eats _everything_ ,” Gil added.

“Anything you need for the kids?” Malcolm asked. He’d send over whatever supplies she requested and even tossed some in the box when she didn’t ask.

“No — we’re all good,” Jackie responded

“How about you?” Gil asked.

“Gonna make some lentil soup. Thank you guys so much.” He looked at his phone where the FaceTime call indicator had popped up.

“We want to see you,” Jackie spoke.

Malcolm accepted the call and held his arm out so they could see his face. He gave a little wave in hello.

“You grew a beard!” Jackie observed. “Looks very nice.”

“Distinguished,” Gil added.

“It’s there,” was all Malcolm offered as a description. 

Malcolm focused on their faces, seeing more grey in Gil’s hair and goatee than he remembered. More tiredness under both of their eyes. Smiles just the same, thrilled to be seeing him.

“You look really well, kid,” Gil complimented.

“Yeah.” He gestured. “I’m…okay.”

“Go make your lentil soup,” Jackie directed. “We love you.”

“Bye guys.”

He hung up the call, the silence much more deafening than the comforting it had been before.

* * *

Malcolm managed to escape Quantico early one Friday for the weekend and made it back to Jackie and Gil’s.

“Use your key,” Jackie’s text had said, “try to keep it quiet.”

Malcolm unlocked the door and slowly slid it open, not wanting to disturb anyone. At 5PM, no one was usually home yet, but at Jackie’s suggestion, he already knew something was up.

Jackie waved a spatula at him from the kitchen in hello. He walked over and squeezed her shoulder in return. “Hi, Jackie.”

“Hi, kid.” She smiled. “Maybe wash up here at the sink for now.”

“Gil sleeping?” His eyes glanced around the room but didn’t see him.

“Yeah. He took a hit — he has a concussion.”

Malcolm’s eyes widened.

“He’s fine,” Jackie assured. “He just needs rest. He’ll be up later, I’m sure.” She kept stirring an adobo sauce she was preparing. “Tell me about work.”

“Maybe later?” Malcolm suggested. “Can I just sit here with you a bit?”

“Of course.” Jackie repeated, “He’s fine.”

Malcolm nodded and watched her stir.

* * *

Malcolm was clingy in a way he hadn’t been in a while. Stayed with Jackie while Gil slept. Offered to help with dinner, and she reached to find him things to do when she didn’t need any more help with the food. Had him set the table. Peel a clementine they could snack on. Setup a full game of concentration on the coffee table.

Jackie turned over two cards — not a match.

Malcolm did the same — not a match. His foot bounced against the floor, his knee bobbing up and down.

Jackie flipped over cards at opposite corners, revealing one that had been shown before, but they weren’t a match, so she put them back. Malcolm turned over two others, not taking advantage of the match opportunity. Jackie retrieved the two matching cards and started a pile for herself.

“Should’ve seen that,” Malcolm commented.

He was right — he should’ve. But Jackie didn’t say anything, just squeezed his knee and took her second turn.

They were nearly through their game when Gil emerged. Malcolm flew up to greet him, but took a step away before he got too close.

“Give me a hug, kid,” Gil said, pulling him in.

“Are you okay?” Malcolm muffled into his chest.

“Just have a headache,” Gil assured. “Let’s get some dinner, huh? Smells wonderful.”

“Enchiladas,” Jackie shared.

“She’s spoiling us.”

* * *

Malcolm picked on one enchilada while Jackie went for a second helping and Gil worked on finishing his first.

“Can you tell us about work now?” Jackie asked, trying to pick up her earlier question.

“I got a parakeet.” Malcolm smiled, gleeful over his new feathered friend.

“That doesn’t sound like — “

“Her name is Sunshine.” He put down his fork to fiddle with his phone. “Look.” He held it out to Jackie.

The screen had a live video feed of a little green and yellow bird sitting and grooming herself on a roost. “Look, Gil — she’s lovely.” Jackie handed the phone to him.

He rattled with excitement, “She’s a little bit messy, at times, but she loves to fly around and chirps for me when I come home and sits on my hand and nuzzles and — “

“Take a breath, kid.” Gil grinned.

“I love her.”

“I’m glad.”

* * *

They cleared the dinner plates together, Malcolm offering to do the cleaning and load the dish washer.

“I think I’m gonna go lay down. We’ll get into something tomorrow, kid,” Gil promised.

“You alright for a bit?” Jackie asked Malcolm. “I’m gonna go sit with him. Keep him out of trouble.” She smiled.

Malcolm nodded.

Jackie grabbed an ice pack out of the freezer and followed Gil to the bedroom. She sat against the headboard, kneading the gel, waiting for him to come out of the bathroom.

Instead of laying down onto his pillow, Gil lowered his head into Jackie’s lap.

“That can’t be comfortable,” Jackie commented, brushing his hair back.

“It’s perfect,” Gil disagreed.

Jackie pressed the ice pack against his forehead and held it in place, wanting to provide relief that sometimes worked for her headaches.

“I can hold it,” he offered.

“It’s alright.” She ran her fingers through his hair, soothing his scalp.

“Thank you, Jackie.” For more things than he could quantify in words. He reached up for her hand, and she swapped hands holding the ice pack to squeeze it.

“Calls like that worry me, you know,” she admitted, knowing he’d get her to talk about it eventually, so she might as well offer the information first.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Might need take your wife to work day so I can watch your back,” she teased, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth.

Gil chuckled and kissed her hand. “Criminals better watch out.”

“Got that right,” she said with attitude.

“I’m fine, honey.”

“I know. Still gonna take care of you though.” She kissed his temple.

“Always.”

* * *

Another visit in each direction, and Jackie had her own photos to share of Sunshine. She brought them to school, using them as a comparison to their gerbil. “Sunshine will live twice to four times as long,” she indicated, holding up a large print of one of the vibrant photos.

“Our gerbil’s gonna die?” Ariea, a student with pigtails asked.

“Remember, they live two to four years,” Sam jumped in. Little Bright.

“How old is Violet?” Ariea questioned, her face trying to put together the pieces.

“Two,” Jackie shared. She put down the photo and focused on the ring of students.

“She’s going to _die!_ ” Ariea wailed, shaking her head back and forth, pigtails bouncing.

Sam moved to sit beside Ariea. “We’re taking best care of her. She’ll get two more good years.”

“Ariea — “ Jackie started.

“Quiet tent,” Ariea requested, leaving the circle and going to sit in a cubby nook Jackie had created with batting, pillows, and a few different patterns of fabric.

“Ariea — “ Sam called after her.

“Sam’s right,” Jackie addressed the class. “Violet will have a great life with all the love you’ve given her.”

“Mrs. Arroyo, you promised snack at 2PM,” Greg reminded, looking at the clock.

“That I did. Who wants to make their own ants on a log?” She juggled the dynamic nature of the classroom.

* * *

_Does it make me weird I’ve never brought anyone home to meet you?_ Malcolm texted Jackie.

_Maybe you just haven’t met the right person._

_I haven’t dated._

_You’ve gone out._

_Yes, but not dated. No one wants broken._

_We do. You’re not broken._

When nothing comes back, she sends another message.

_Go get on the swings. Send photo evidence._

_Jackieeeee._ She could practically hear his voice through the phone.

Half an hour later she gets a photo of his eyes sideways, mouth quirked, the evening sun glinting off his forehead, chains at his sides.

 _You win,_ he captions.

She sends a selfie of she and Gil in return, tasting marinara, his eyes more on her, her eyes focused on capturing them both with the camera.

* * *

Malcolm was sitting at his desk, a number two pencil scratching through his head, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked at it and walked for the hallway, wanting to get out of earshot of nosy cube mates.

He pressed to answer. “She’s dead,” broke over the line before he could offer hello or understand what was happening.

“Gil — “

“ _Jackie_ ,” he sobbed.

Malcolm’s hands grabbed at his head, trying to stay on the line, trying to hold himself together for the man on the other side.

Yet still, he crunched in on himself, shaking. Bowed his head, not comprehending how the moment had gone from glee of hearing from his friend to terror of never hearing from another friend again.

“I’m coming,” was all Malcolm managed to get out.

The line went silent. Gil had hung up.

Malcolm didn’t recognize the voice that shouted in the empty hall. He ran before anyone could question it and hopped the first train.

* * *

Shards of side mirrors and headlights crunched under his feet, grinding a memento into his shoes. Red bits, white bits, stray metal bits all homed together in a fracas, eating through to his feet, ensuring they’d always have a place with him.

Buckled metal, sardined front end reaching for the sky in a silent call for help. But none was needed, the impact too great for time or distance to have mattered. Flattened into an accordion, only dreadful sounds creaked out to onlookers.

Reaching the passenger side of the vehicle, a piercing wail cut the audience of rubberneckers.

Jackie, held in snug in the indigo sundress she’d had on that morning. Her waves pinned up. Her face nearly unrecognizable.

Gil crumbled, more broken than the shattered car.

* * *

Malcolm had never thought there would be a last visit.

Jackie had made him chicken noodle soup, an addition to the hearty meatball sandwiches she had made herself and Gil. He couldn’t remember what they’d talked about, just the feeling of warmth that came from their home.

There wasn’t anything special about the visit that made it stand out. Weren’t any special words, events, or sensory cues.

Yet sitting at their kitchen table, it was all Malcolm could think about.

“I, uh — uh, could you take a look? Draft, very draft,” Malcolm passed a sheet of paper over to Gil.

Gil read through its contents to _loving wife, teacher, and —_

 _mother_.

Gil nodded, stood with his brow pinched and lips together in a tight line, and retreated toward their bedroom, his shoulders shaking.

* * *

The next day, after breakfast, Malcolm told Gil he’d be right back and went for a walk to share Jackie’s funeral details with his mother.

“I don’t belong there,” Jessica indicated.

“What do you _mean_?” Malcolm stressed. “She’s everything to me.”

“Give my regrets,” she stood firm.

Years later, she was still jealous he had found a home somewhere else. “You are _unbelievable_ ,” he spoke, on edge. “You’re making her _burial_ about you.”

“I’m not coming.”

“She deserves your _respect_! That’s the _least_ you can give!” Malcolm hollered, all of his pain coming out in rage against his mother.

She hung up on him, and he hurtled his phone at the sidewalk, shattering the case into several pieces that would never fit back together. He sat on the ground in the broken pile until he could be strong enough for Gil and return home.

Malcolm and Gil didn’t talk about the empty seat next to Ainsley in the pew behind them. There were too many other things to think about to hold each other together. But the blade slid under both of their skin, creating a new wound they’d never recover from.

* * *

Being around Gil reminded them both Jackie wasn’t there anymore. For awhile, Malcolm thought it best they not see each other, lest he cause Gil any more pain.

Then Gil kept calling him, checking in, just like they’d always done. Malcolm started doing anything he could think of to bring a smile to Gil's day.

Malcolm sent a package, and Gil called him. "It's too expensive," Gil told him.

"You deserve good whiskey,” Malcolm disagreed — he’d found the special batch online.

"We'll drink it together when I see you."

"Do you already have that mug?" A new one released on the _Yankees_ merchandise site.

"No — thank you." He went quiet for a moment. "It was weird not getting the chocolate."

"I can send some next time." Malcolm pulled up his laptop, already looking for some.

"That's okay — I wouldn't eat it."

“Some school supplies?” Malcolm offered as a joke.

“Cut out the middle man — send ‘em straight to the school,” Gil returned, his voice tipping back toward sad.

"Do you need anything?" Malcolm closed the laptop, unable to search for what would help him feel better.

Gil sighed. "No."

“You know you can call. Anytime.” Malcolm felt like he was Gil, instilling the same words into him as a kid.

“Yes.” Gil paused and explained, “When you’re around, it’s like she’s still here.”

Malcolm swallowed. “I’m sorry. I’ll come up this weekend.”

* * *

The kitchen was a weird dance with just the two of them, but they managed. Joked about Gil’s new love for baked potatoes. “You can grill them and put _any_ topping on them.”

“I’ve had baked potatoes before, Gil.” Malcolm was picky, but that was about as bland as things got.

“But with chives, cayenne, and turmeric? Peanut sauce and Thai basil?” Gil listed off only a few of the combinations he had experimented with.

Malcolm looked at him, doubt in his eyes. "I'll try it."

They sat at the table and started in on their food. "I don't like how the kitchen feels without her,” Gil divulged a little information on the behavior. “She didn't grill with me as much."

Malcolm nodded and tried a tiny bite of potato Gil's way. He coughed and swallowed several sips of water. "Too spicy," Malcolm eked out, drinking more water.

"And I gave you the half version." Gil laughed. "Eat under it."

"Have you been down to the park?"

He’d been at work, work, checking in on his recovering detective, and work. “Not lately."

"Maybe we can go after,” Malcolm suggested an alternative to both of them staying in. Jackie would have chased after them for that.

Gil pointed at his plate. “Eat up first."

"Yes, _dad_." Malcolm rolled his eyes and Gil let out a laugh that almost filled the emptiness.

* * *

Malcolm led Gil toward the swings, a new set in shiny forest green with bright yellow seats. "This was your thing," Gil objected, uncomfortable with the direction they were walking.

"Humor me," Malcolm requested.

A gleam at his feet caught Gil's eye, and he looked down between the supports — _In memory of Jackie Arroyo, beloved teacher_.

Gil put his hand over the bottom of his face and nodded, not looking up to see Malcolm’s reaction. Walked over to a seat, lowered himself in, and used his arms to get him going so his legs wouldn't drag. Malcolm sat beside him and did the same, trying valiantly to beat him to the top.

But Gil clunked first and started falling back as Malcolm flew up, their whoops carried away on the breeze. They kept swinging until their tears air dried.

Malcolm threw himself off the swing, rolling onto the grass. Gil slowed himself down with his feet and stood above him, offering a hand up.

“Ow,” Malcolm complained, getting to his feet.

“Getting old, kid,” Gil teased.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Malcolm dusted himself off.

* * *

Malcolm quietly left Quantico for New York after he was fired. Didn’t really know where to go. Didn’t call Gil, didn’t want to disappoint him with the reality he had failed. That he needed a new job.

But Gil found him anyway. On the street. Pulled him into a hug. Didn’t judge him. Offered him work, a place to stay if he needed it.

“ _You could have gone anywhere, stayed away from New York_ ,” Gil pointed out. “ _Why come home?_ “

Malcolm rambled, talking of running and clichés, but Gil just tipped his glass. “ _Here’s to family_.” Smiled. 

Malcolm picked up the picture frame beside them, thumb running alongside Jackie’s face. Thought of the three of them making and eating dinner around their kitchen table. The photo of the two of them teasing him he still pulled up on his phone.

And finally felt home.

* * *

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> three paragraphs within originally came from a flash fic i wrote on the discord server, rest og


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